


C is for Christmas and Curls

by OrionLady



Series: The ABCs of Family [3]
Category: National Treasure (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Babies, Childhood Trauma, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Insecurity, Past Character Death, Sadusky has an EpiphanyTM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23345689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrionLady/pseuds/OrionLady
Summary: Abigail holds the tray away from herself, glancing down at a pool of water around her shoes, and her eyes find Ben.He starts to stand. “Was that…?”“Ben.” Abigail takes a shaky breath. “I think my water just broke.”What says Christmas dinner more than unexpected chaos? The better question, Sadusky thinks, is how is he the only one staying calm?
Series: The ABCs of Family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643848
Comments: 31
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait to post this and then realized, hey, we all need some silliness and family feels in these bizarre and trying times. Hope all is well with you lovely people. We're in this together!
> 
> (Also, sorry for the anachronistic Christmas content in March.)

“Love can change a person the way a parent can change a baby—awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess.”

~ Lemony Snicket, _Horseradish_

“Where is the knife?”

“I thought you had it!”

“Why would I have it?”

“Because I asked you to stab that bird ten minutes ago!”

“Uh…guys?”

“ _What_?”

“What, Patrick?”

“I think Riley has it.”

“No—!”

_Thud…THUD…!_

Sadusky halts on the stone walkway, utterly flummoxed. Brows up so high he feels them pushing at his forehead.

He’s holding a covered serving tray of gingerbread, with a green and red striped holiday tie to go with his grey button up, and in this moment he feels suddenly ludicrous. His breath fogs the crisp air when he lets it out. These are people he’s chased on _manhunts_. And yet somehow when Ben called him, sounding weirdly serious about the whole thing, Sadusky found himself saying yes around a suddenly dry throat.

What has he gotten himself into? Was agreeing to come to this really a good idea?

_Too late to back out now._

Besides, the series of lumbering thuds has crescendo-ed into lots of swearing and whining and the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. He’s starting to get worried. The last time he was in this house, someone had been shot.

Not a great track record.

Peter knocks sharply on the door, then realizes no one can hear it over all the shouting and falling. For a house with absolutely no children in it, it’s louder than his daughter’s. He goes for the doorbell this time and it chimes an old, atonal set of notes that probably has some nerdy historical explanation to go with the equally old, nerdy house.

“Peter!” Emily Gates is the only one standing at the door when she opens it, in an apron, holly dishcloth slung over one shoulder, and cranberry sauce smeared across her forehead in a little shooting star shape that she clearly hasn’t noticed yet. “So good of you to come! And what’s this?”

Peter debates with himself whether to tell her about the sauce. But she’s already grabbed the tray out of his hands.

“Gingerbread,” he finally gets out. “Made fresh this morning from my grandmother’s recipe.”

Emily’s eyes light up, thrilled with his answer. This, at least, Sadusky was prepared for: it is considered sacrilege in the Gates family to bring something _store bought_ , heaven forbid, to Christmas dinner. Ben drove this point home with a story about how his father once threw some sugar cookies out a second storey window, still in their plastic packaging.

“Wonderful! Come in, come in!” Emily tugs on Peter’s sleeve to pull him inside and he is once again struck by how casually they all touch him, as if he was always meant to be here. He can’t quite figure it out. “Let me take your coat.”

“No, that’s fine,” he says, glancing at smoke billowing out of the kitchen and an almost Grecian chorus of yelling. “I’ve got it—you have your hands full.”

Another thud punctuates this statement, from some room down the hall, and Emily rolls her eyes. “You have no idea.”

So Peter takes off his own coat and hangs it on a series of hooks just inside the door, over top of which hangs a painting of Times Square from a hundred years ago. The house smells warm and yeasty, dusted with the glazed seasoning on what his nose promises to be a delicious roast. No evidence of the home invasion in May is visible, not even a dent or scratch. Any trace of blood has been expertly cleaned, the wood finishing restored.

There’s a mishmash of old and new decorations—

Real pine boughs, pinned across entryways, are layered over top of hand cut snowflakes with Christmas themed knock-knock jokes scribbled on them. The writing is too tight and chaotic to be anyone but Riley’s, and there appears to be a competition going on the giant Christmas tree flanking the living room, half of it dotted tastefully with colour-coordinated bulbs and the other half with homely, glue gun created monstrosities. Some bizarre order to the thing seems to have been attempted, with cut out felt versions of Mary and Joseph contrasted against reindeer, a yeti, chipmunks, and even a narwhal. The only artfully done decorations on that half are the gingerbread men, baked to perfection with a hole to loop yarn through.

There are two tree toppers perched at a precarious angle in competition: one a beautiful, antique star, and one a polar bear with two different sized googly eyes. Sadusky steals a photo of it with his phone when no one’s looking. It’s immediately set as his new wallpaper.

Emily darts into the kitchen just in time for the oven to beep.

Patrick pokes his head out. “Those are the rolls. I timed it just like you told me so they’re done at the same time as the turkey…Peter!”

The man darts over for an emphatic handshake, just as well since Emily shoos him out of the kitchen with a swat of the dishcloth. Sadusky has to brace himself against the bobbing, but even still he catches himself grinning, just a small one.

“We weren’t sure you’d come!” Patrick pulls back only to slap his shoulder this time. “Sorry for the mad house in here.”

Peter listens to the ruckus with a trained ear. None of his experience helps it make any further sense, however. “Is everything okay?”

Before Patrick can answer, Abigail comes storming out, hands in the air. She’s frazzled, snapping off epithets that have long since transitioned into German. Even with her huge belly, she’s still somehow magazine ready in a pair of maternity palazzo pants and a crème silk blouse, her makeup flawless.

Her eyes, however, are cherry bombs—and right now they’re ablaze, shooting off.

“That’s it!” she declares. “I’m done! If Riley wants to electrocute himself and Ben wants to stab himself, they can be my guest.”

Sadusky straightens with a small gasp. “Stab…?”

This sound draws Abigail’s attention and she lets out a gasp of her own. It’s almost a spectacle, how fast she goes from thunderous to warm, her smile wide and excited.

“Peter! Merry Christmas!” She’s in motion again, pulling him closer like Emily, though with more tenderness and a gentle ripple in the fingers that land on his back that speaks of familiarity. “I didn’t like the thought of you alone.”

“Alone?” Patrick asks.

When Abigail finally steps back, Peter hopes dearly he isn’t blushing or doesn’t look as overwhelmed as he feels. “My daughter’s husband is from London, so the family will spend the holidays with those grandparents this year. I’ll get to be with them next time.”

Abigail snaps her fingers. “We’ll have you _all_ in for next year’s Christmas, then. I’ll finally get to meet your granddaughter!”

Sadusky nods, smiling, trying not to let it fall in confusion. Next year? He assumed he only got invited to this one out of gratitude for that episode back in May and the losing-Riley incident in September.

Or more likely out of pity, because he has no family around. If he hadn’t gotten invited, he would probably just have gone to a truck stop for a turkey dinner or bought a microwavable one. This is world’s better, of course, he just didn’t expect them all to be so happy about it, especially with the way he is intruding on this easygoing, mellow atmosphere.

_THUD!_

…Or maybe not so easygoing at the moment.

Abigail just huffs. “Patrick, do we have an actual screwdriver around here that Riley can use instead of the meat knife?”

Putting up his index finger in a thinking motion, Patrick shakes it once he remembers. “I think Ben keeps his toolkit under the sink.”

“Lead the way.” With a sweep of her arm, Abigail and her dry tone follow Patrick into the kitchen.

Emily watches them go, fond. She’s got a particularly bright glow about her, hair grown longer past her shoulders and posture content since she and Patrick renewed their vows at a small ceremony on the waterfront this past summer.

Somehow Sadusky had gotten invited to that too.

He gestures down the hall. “Do you mind if I…?”

A little laugh escapes Emily before she can stop it. “Good luck to you. When Riley sets his mind to a task, we can’t seem to stop him.”

Something in her tone says that she wouldn’t want to anyway, but he doesn’t call her out. Her hand pats his back while he walks away and his steps almost falter at this sweet gesture.

Padding down the hall, he takes care to avoid any squeaky floorboards. It’s a nearly impossible undertaking, with the eighteenth century original hardwood still in place, but he still feels he ought to try, to avoid startling the growing sound of a heated discussion.

It’s not quite arguing, as Ben is mostly pleading and Riley is mostly grunting to ignore what sounds like good advice.

When Sadusky finally rounds the open door of a brand new nursery, painted in a rainbow of pastel colours, including a handmade white crib and rocking chair, it reveals Riley trying to screw some device into the wall beside the crib using a serrated meat knife and Ben—unsuccessfully—trying to pull him away from it.

The insistent _thud-thud_ happens again, when Riley fumbles with the bulky black disk and it bounces off the soft yellow carpet. Sadusky winces, mostly in sympathy pain for Riley’s faintly shaking left arm. It’s clearly the culprit of his failed attempts, the muscles still not working properly.

Peter only knows this with such certainty because he’s fielded the late night calls from Ben, lamenting his guilt and fear over how physiotherapy isn’t working as fast as doctors had hoped. The way Riley can still type like a demon, fine motor skills, but he struggles with any kind of flexile action, pulling or pushing at something that stretches the limit of his strength and the bullet scar.

Like this pesky screw, apparently. Maybe the drywall is harder than they thought.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Ben insists, and it doesn’t sound like the first time.

“Too late.” Riley’s deadpan muttering is probably supposed to be a joke to lighten the moment but no one laughs. “I think I can singlehandedly get a radio signal on this thing.”

He holds up his spastic palm. “Get it? No? No takers?”

Ben sighs—also not for the first time. “Will you at least put the knife down? You’re lucky the few times it dropped, it hasn’t been on your toes.”

Sadusky comes over and does it for him, removing the knife from Riley’s trembling fingers. He frowns between the two men and wonders why they haven’t thought of the obvious solution yet. “Riley, just let Ben put this…thing…up for you.”

Ben cringes. “Wait, Peter—”

Riley draws himself up to his full height, which just _barely_ makes it to Ben’s shoulder. He’s not even taller than Sadusky, though he acts like it. “I’ll forgive you, Agent Man, because you just got here—welcome, by the way—but _I_ made this security console from scratch and _I_ will be the one to put it up. Its data readings go straight to our phones using a state of the art XML coding language that I _wrote_. Do you know about XML coding languages? Hmm? That’s what I thought. No way is someone else installing it.”

Around ‘ _I_ will be the one,’ Ben starts to look reproving and exasperated, but Sadusky notices something else in this statement that concerns him.

“Security console?” he asks, cutting off the argument Riley and Ben are having through sheer eye contact alone. It’s quite frankly impressive. “Doesn’t the house have an extensive monitoring and alarm system already?”

“So. What’s your point?”

“So…” Sadusky’s eyes do another loop of the room and land on Riley’s pale face. “Is this one really necessary? Isn’t this room secure enough?”

Ben catches on to the implications of this suddenly, looking devastated. He faces Riley head on, one hand on each shoulder, though it isn’t lost on Sadusky that his right thumb rubs slowly and Riley unwinds the longer he does it.

“Riles….”

“Benny,” Riley snarks back, then looks sorry about it.

Setting his jaw, Ben doesn’t let it daunt him. “Riley, do you feel safe in this house?”

“Of course. Duh.”

“Are you sure?”

Riley shifts on his feet. Back and forth. Just once, very fast. “I’m with all of you and chances of being attacked are low anyway. One of the alarms is on this very window.”

Ben and Riley both swallow, eyes a little clouded.

“That’s right,” says Sadusky. They glance at him. “It would call the police immediately if someone tried to open or break it. I’ve gotten lots of those calls.”

“Right.” Ben smiles, but it’s one of those worried, slightly desperate smiles like he’s trying to get Riley to mimic it. “Which means this baby is going to be perfectly safe, Riley. No one’s going to hurt her like someone did to us.”

It should be predictable by now, but hearing Ben Gates get right to the heart of the matter, saying such personal things out loud without shame, is forever a striking experience. Sadusky picks up the device, holding the knife in one and this symbol of Riley’s insecurity in the other.

“Don’t go all intense on me, Ben.” Riley’s offhand words are betrayed by his wide eyes and the way his taut frame rounds out with the release of strain. “I just wanted to do something for the baby. That’s it.”

Ben eyes him for a minute longer. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Riley looks up through his lashes, like he can’t believe it’s that easy.

“Okay.” Ben musses with his gelled hair only for Riley to swat the hand away. “If you want to do something for my daughter, then I respect you going about that your own way.”

Patrick appears at the door, holding a slotted screwdriver. “This might help.”

Riley perks up, grabbing it almost before the man finishes speaking with an elated smile. “Aha! Thank you, Patrick.”

Peter hands over the disk and Riley does something quick with it, causing it to beep, before setting the device over a pencil measure mark on the wall. He retrieves the screw from the floor and lines it up.

With pensive eyes, Ben steps back to let Riley try by himself. Sadusky too wants to intercept the shaking hand, but he too doesn’t lift a finger to help. If this will give Riley some dignity and peace of mind, then they have absolutely no right to stop him.

Sadusky does hand the knife to Patrick, who heads away with a salute.

“Thank you, Peter,” says Ben under his breath, brow still furrowed and eyes still on his friend.

Peter smiles. “There’s no need to thank me, Ben. Like I said, you’re good people.”

Riley pauses, eyes flicking over his shoulder. He and Ben have another of those gaze-only conversations. Riley seems to make an immediate decision.

“Hey, Ben. See that tablet on the change table?”

Ben nods and picks it up, the screen queued to some complicated graph readings. They fluctuate when Sadusky shifts forward to look and he realizes the three lines represent each of their thermal signatures—biometrics cued to trip an alarm in case someone leans too close to the crib.

“What do you want me to do?”

Riley holds the scanner steady with his right hand and points a quivering thumb at the tablet. “See the toggle switch that goes up and down on the side?”

“Got it.”

“Turn that down so it doesn’t go off once I initialize the disk.”

Ben taps the screen and then pulls the switch to its lowest setting. Riley finishes screwing the scanner to the wall, bracing his left elbow so it’s steady while he uses his right to twist. He taps a few buttons ringing the fish eye scanner and a tiny light on the side blinks green.

“There.” Riley steps back, hands on his hips, eyes beaming. Ben claps his good shoulder. “State of the art and air tight.”

“It’s impressive, Riles.” Ben sets the tablet down with a half smile. Then something occurs to him. “You didn’t need me to turn down this dial at all, did you?”

“Nope.” Riley pops the ‘p.’ “Just asked for that keep you busy. You wanted to feel helpful, so…”

Ben laughs. “Good to know I can played so easily.”

“Hey.” But Riley’s fighting a grin too. “You and Abigail bought this kid pretty much an entire university library and enough toys to make a whole _school_ of children happy. Let me have this. Gotta get my cool uncle points in somewhere.”

Ben scoffs, with the flash of wide eyes that indicate a whole slew of memories coming to mind. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about in that department.”

“It really is something,” Peter adds. He gestures to the data readings. “We need to sit down and talk about using your skills at the Bureau, or at least your tech inventions.”

Riley face wrinkles into a dubious scowl. They’re saved from whatever scathing reply he has prepared when Abigail calls them to the table.

And what a table it is. When the three of them meander into the dining room, it’s to see the vintage table overflowing with food, and Sadusky distantly wonders how six people are going to eat it all. There are German dishes, in deference to Abigail’s upbringing, traditional English meat pies, and even bejgli rolls for Riley. They’ve pulled out all the stops—all homemade, of course.

Except…

Sadusky feels rude asking, but he clears his throat and points out. “Did I hear something about a turkey?”

“Oh!” Abigail too notices its absence. She flushes with a hand to her forehead. “I completely forgot it in the oven, sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me today. Be right back! Get yourselves settled!”

Sadusky does so, the other head of the table left for Abigail to take its empty seat.

Patrick and Emily, sitting together on one side, are having another of those fake, nattering arguments about what they got each other for Christmas. Riley balances an apple on his head to make Ben laugh again. They look nothing like the dignified, staid figures the papers and media write them out to be—they are vulnerable and bumbling and full of the simple joy of familiar people existing over top of each other.

The words spill out of him before he can think twice.

“I just want to thank you all,” says Peter, and other conversations hush. He keeps his tone level, calm, stuffing any other suspicious, tearful emotions far out of reach. “You’ve been exceptionally generous and it means a lot to not have to spend Christmas alone.”

The Gates family, sans Abigail, all gape at him.

Well, this certainly isn’t the reaction he was anticipating. 

Emily breaks the stunned silence, her face as disgusted as Riley’s of minutes earlier. “Don’t be ridiculous. We would never have let you spend Christmas by yourself.”

“Yeah no offense, Grandmother Willow.” Riley leans around Ben to see him, catching the apple in his hands. “But what are you talking about?”

“I just meant…” Sadusky collects his jumbled wits. “That it’s a gracious offer you extended.”

“Peter.” Ben grips his arm. “We didn’t even give this a second thought. Why _wouldn’t_ we invite you?”

Sadusky can think of a whole host of reasons, mostly centered around the fact that he handcuffed Ben to a desk that one time and police almost shot Abigail at the Library of Congress under his—admittedly unknowing—orders, but he doesn’t want to be rude. So he just smiles, the action tight.

Riley pops a candied orange slice in his mouth and speaks around it. “You’re worse than Ben with his sacrificial lamb complex.”

“Did I just hear the man who offered to let himself stay behind in a crypt to save our lives say something?”

“Mmm.” Riley quirks an eyebrow at Ben while he chews. “Got me there.”

“Alright!” Abigail marches back out, oblivious to the uneasy atmosphere. She’s holding a truly massive bird on a truly massive serving tray. “Who’s ready to eat?”

Peter will look back and think about this moment later, how close she got to the table. What a homey scene it was for those blissful ten minutes, the whole clan together and at peace. She’s within two steps, maybe not even that. Chipper, delighted to be with her family, Abigail is the picture of the perfect host.

And then there comes a sharp _splash!_

Everyone goes quiet.

Riley pauses with a chocolate truffle halfway to his mouth and Ben’s hand, still on Sadusky’s arm, squeezes into a vice.

Even Abigail is completely lost for a moment. She halts, brow furrowed. Then it smooths and her eyes blow wide. She holds the tray away from herself, glancing down at a pool of water around her shoes, and her eyes find Ben.

He starts to stand. “Was that…?”

“Ben—”

“It can’t be. We’ve still got four weeks—”

“Ben.” Abigail takes a shaky breath. “I think my water just broke.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadusky swallows, confused about why he feels so shaken too. None of this is right. None of the Gates’ choices are logical, fitting into the clean boxes that his job, his understanding of human beings and what motivates them, mandates. “I shouldn’t be—”
> 
> “Why? Why shouldn’t you be here?”
> 
> Sadusky feels tendrils of heat crawl up his jaw, into the rushing of his ears and the hollows of his cheeks. “Because it’s not right.”

Somehow, though Patrick and Emily have done this once before, everyone loses their cool at precisely the same moment. Riley, ever the fast thinker, darts away to grab car keys and his thumbs fly over his phone to read something about premature birth statistics. The rest are all standing around Abigail, talking over top of each other with a visible panic that’s steadily climbing.

Sadusky sits there, floored by the complete _chaos_ of it all. These are top professionals in their fields, who’ve survived car chases, subterranean rescues and heists, being shot at…

And they’re all pastier than the china teacups while Abigail clutches at her stomach and starts to wince. The noise reaches a fever pitch.

Emily, of course, turns out to be the most helpful person in the entire world but even she’s rambling. “I’ll call the doctors and let them know we’re on our way. Abigail? Keep breathing, that’s it. Are you breathing? Good, dear, don’t stop.”

Peter clears his throat again, tapping the table with the blunt end of a butter knife to catch Ben’s attention. The man swivels, breathing harder than Abigail. “Do either of you have a go bag ready for the hospital?”

That stops everyone in their tracks.

Ben finally lets go of his arm. It prickles a little with the sudden inundation of blood. “You’re a genius. Yes, we do. Dad, can you grab that? It’s upstairs in our bedroom.”

Patrick is off like a shot, which is good because just then Riley honks the horn from outside.

By some miracle of team effort (Sadusky is being generous—it’s mostly him, after he takes Abigail’s arm and leads her carefully outside) they get Abigail into the back seat of the SUV. Ben sits with her, bag slung over his shoulder, Sadusky up front; Patrick and Emily promise to meet them at the hospital. Ben holds Abigail’s hand like a lifeline and she still manages to be the calmer of the two.

“It’s not my Ferrari,” says Riley, cranking the car into drive and revving off, zero to fifty in about three seconds, “But it’ll have to do.”

“Just keep your eyes on the road,” Peter coaches, wondering if should have taken the wheel for this one. “It snowed a few days ago and the last thing we need is to hit a patch of black ice.”

“Does this mean a federal agent is giving me permission to break the speed limit? There’s one for the bucket list.”

“Yes, _yes_! Go, Mr. Poole. Fast as you can.”

That might not have been the best thing to say, but Riley doesn’t disappoint. Though not an adept or the most coordinated driver, Riley makes up for that with sheer brazen courage, not hesitating in the least while roaring around a turn. At least his hand has stopped shaking. Belying the on brand impishness, Riley’s face has lost all colour too. He looks just as anxious as Ben. Sadusky eyes Riley a few times, trying to place why the haunted glint would be so prominent in his eyes.

“Last time I did this,” the young man says, breathless but sounding like he appreciates the adrenaline rush. “We had just sort of kidnapped Abigail, so this is a step up.”

“Riley! Not a reassuring callback right now!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes to Ben, not looking very sorry at all.

A jolt of memories floods across Sadusky’s skin, the feeling of himself watching that very chase through the night and heading in the opposite direction, back toward the scene of the crime. How _confused_ all his agents had been about why and how the theft went down.

Again, he finds himself smiling. He isn’t sure how the snakes and ladders pathway of his life arranged itself to arrive right at this moment in time, sitting in the front passenger’s seat of this car with these people who made his life such a headache all those years ago.

But for the first time, he admits that he’s grateful it did. He wouldn’t change one detail of how things turned out.

Despite getting to the hospital in record time and a team of doctors already waiting, Abigail has deteriorated with the pain of contractions. She can’t even walk, and a medical team has to lower her onto a gurney. They run inside, Ben and Sadusky trailing after them while Riley parks the car.

“Mr. Gates?” One of the nurses addresses Ben. “We’ll be running some tests but then you can come be with your wife. I’ll notify you when she’s out.”

Ben kisses Abigail’s knuckles and they reluctantly let go of each other. The strangle hold of their fingers until the very last second makes Peter’s lungs ache. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. You’re both going to be fine.”

Abigail just nods. “I love you, Paul Brown.”

Whatever this means makes Ben laugh abruptly, a snapped, Christmas cracker sound that brightens the whole room. Even after Abigail and the team disappear, he stands there for a moment, lost, until Sadusky pushes none-too-subtly at his shoulder.

Ben collapses into a waiting room chair, duck themed diaper bag still at his side. It makes for a ridiculous and cute sight, especially with how over his head this whole situation has made him. This isn’t how any of them planned the day to go, but Sadusky is honoured that he got to be here for the crisis, rather than merely clean up after the fact.

The emergency room’s sliding doors hiss to herald Riley when he trots through, keys spinning on his finger.

He glances between a dazed Ben and a curious Sadusky. His eyes narrow with mock irritation. “Did she do that lame nickname thing you guys use in place of a romantic gesture?”

Ben doesn’t miss a beat. He’s getting good at this, after years of being around Riley. “Better than Bill.”

Riley’s mock irritation becomes mock offense. “Are you insulting my improvisational abilities?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Which it _doesn’t_ , because she totally bought it.”

“Notice that she didn’t believe us in that meeting and we had to steal it ourselves. She even made a Bigfoot joke.”

“So?”

“Riles, you don’t come back from a Bigfoot joke.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Ben throws up his hands. Some baby toy in the bag squeaks loudly with the release of pressure on it.

“You’re a lost cause,” Riley decides. “You’re too honest for con work anyway.”

All of this has its intended effect and Ben relaxes, his mind off the problem for a moment, peering up at Riley with an amused expression. “You say that like it’s a bad thing—and like you’re not in that boat right along with me.”

“Boy scout.”

Ben’s smile creeps higher. “Says the kid with a gummy bear for a heart.”

“You kidnapped the president,” Peter blurts, still bewildered. “Your rap sheet is—or would have been—longer than some career criminals I’ve hunted.”

This one stumps the two men for a minute. Riley looks down his glasses at Ben and Ben shrugs. Another non verbal communication. It’s a beautifully earnest, fluid thing, and Sadusky softens at once.

“But then,” he amends, “you never seriously hurt anyone and you gave back virtually everything you stole.”

Riley winks in agreement, sitting next to Ben. “Exactly. Thank you, wise tree Sadusky.”

“Any time. Does this story have anything to do with how you met?”

Using the scuffed tip of his shoe, Riley nudges at Sadusky’s shin. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Ben leans back with a playful look. “That’s too bad, because we’re not telling.”

Resigning himself to being in the dark for the foreseeable future, Peter eases down slower than Ben did, so that the man is bookended by he and Riley. Ben closes his eyes, lips turning up a little when he feels Riley’s sewing leg against his own and the wobbly left elbow that props on his arm. The kick drum tap of Riley’s foot on his loafer. More fluid, nonverbal messages. After a minute, Ben reaches over and pushes up Riley’s glasses for him, patting the unruly hair. Riley’s fingers fly, texting an update to Emily. He smiles when Ben pokes and examines the swollen shoulder.

Sadusky begins to consider whether he should gracefully bow out. This is a family only time. If Christmas dinner was an imposition, then staying here for the birth of a child is unspeakably uncouth. He allows himself a moment to bask in the oasis of their presence, however fretting at the moment, and feels almost privileged under the weight of it. 

Rising from his chair, Sadusky buttons up his coat. “Do let me know how Abigail and the baby are. Give me a call or better yet, send me a photo. And thank you again for inviting me to dinner today.”

Ben’s eyes are strangely wide and Riley’s mouth flips down. He asks for both of them, “You’re leaving? Now?”

Peter blinks. “Of course. I understand that this is a private and difficult time for your family. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“ _Our_ family?” Ben parrots, shocked. “Peter—”

“How is she?” They’re interrupted by the arrival of Patrick and Emily, multiple quilted to-go bags laden on each of their arms. Emily zips over to hug her son. “Is Abigail alright?”

“I don’t know, Mom. They just took her in a few minutes ago. They’re checking the baby’s vitals before trying any delivery.”

Ben holds her close, for just a beat longer than normal, and the reality of how shaken they all are starts to sink in. None of them have said it out loud, but a premature baby, even by four weeks, is still a risk. She might not make it.

“There were no warning signs,” Patrick laments. “Isn’t there some way to tell if the baby is struggling?”

“Abigail was feeling off today.” Ben points out, brow pulled low in obvious self flagellation. “Just absent minded, slow to remember things. That might have been a sign and we missed it.”

Riley has a more practical question. “What’s with all the steaming bags? What did you do, buy out Uber Eats?”

Emily pecks Ben on the cheek and then steps back. “Actually, we thought since none of us have eaten, why let a perfectly good Christmas dinner go to waste?”

“You…” Riley laughs, incredulous. “You brought all the food? _Here_?”

In answer, Emily shoves some old magazines off the waiting area coffee table and spreads a red blanket over it. The way it floats smoothly down immediately transforms the atmosphere from dreary to comforting. Everyone takes an auspicious breath and Sadusky warms all the way down to his toes.

Emily waves her arms over it like a fairy godmother. “Well? What are you all waiting for? Let’s dig in!”

“Is this even allowed?” Ben asks.

Patrick shrugs. “I cleared it with the head nurse on the way over. They’ve seen far worse and there aren’t as many patients in today, so we aren’t disturbing anyone.”

This is certainly backed up by the nearly empty waiting room, aside from one young college student with a leg cast and crutches.

Riley is the first to break the spell, diving for the jar of stuffing. “Dibs.”

Emily tuts. “You can’t call dibs on a whole dish! That’s not how it works!”

“I’ll share if you’re nice.”

Peter backs away, mentally memorizing the moment so he can enjoy the thought of it later over his microwaved turkey. “I’ll just be…”

Ben’s head snaps away from where he’s trying to rescue Riley from his scolding mother. “No. You’re not intruding and we want you to stay.”

“Ben, look, it’s not right.” Sadusky swallows, confused about why he feels so shaken too. None of this is right. None of the Gates’ choices are logical, fitting into the clean boxes that his job, his understanding of human beings and what motivates them, mandates. “I shouldn’t be—”

“Why? Why shouldn’t you be here?”

Sadusky feels tendrils of heat crawl up his jaw, into the rushing of his ears and the hollows of his cheeks. “Because it’s not right.”

Ben shakes his head and says one humble word, dripping with agony: “Please.”

Sadusky is trained to read people, dissect their tics, and in many ways that’s what makes Ben Gates such an enigma to be around. Because there’s no _need_ to get inside his head. There is no mind game repartee or art of deception before the truth is peeled back in excruciating layers. He blinds Sadusky with his honesty, forcing him to blink back after images of devotion and sincerity until he can see properly, until the palinopsia of his inner mistrust passes.

Ben is Sadusky’s own unsolvable cipher—because with him there is no puzzle at all.

“Okay.” Peter intentionally echoes Ben’s earlier response to Riley, pregnant with unspoken meaning and promise. His knees turn to seaweed, unstable, a sensation he hasn’t experienced since he was a rookie. “Okay.”

Ben lets out a fast, laden breath of relief. “Okay.”

Paper plates and cups are used in place of the fancy china, but none of them care. In fact, the lack of formality lets them slump close to each other, worried sick but rosy cheeked with the simple pleasure of it all. 

For being so rich now, none of them act like it. Their day-to-day clothes are department store or thrift finds and they are generous with an almost childlike belief that all people should be as happy as they are, especially after the hardship they’ve known. Patrick proves this in the extra food that he hands out to the college student and nursing staff who had to work the Christmas day shift, topped with a cookie, a bow, and a handshake of thanks. 

The turkey really is delicious, if a little on the burned side, and even the unfamiliar dishes sit sizzling and full in Sadusky’s belly.

He is mystified by how more chocolate truffles keep appearing on his plate, even though he’s steadily working through them, before he catches Riley slip one on. An impressive sleight of hand, and Sadusky would be wary about the skill if he didn’t know how pure hearted these people are.

That thought takes root before Sadusky can stop it. Like steel wool dragged across his spine, a chill of understanding assaults him.

His eating slows down, hands falling into his lap and eyes spanning the full circuit. He is overwhelmed by their silliness, by Emily catapulting a piece of stuffing at Patrick, the way Riley has tossed one leg over Ben’s knee and is waxing on, mouth full of mashed potatoes, “did you know?” style, about the history of the Great Irish Famine while Ben nods along with a little “hmm” or “oh really?” here and there like he couldn’t write a whole book about the subject.

It would be so easy to take advantage of them all, no matter how world-wise experience has made them. Who protects them in the shadowy recesses of the night? Who guards their longing to do what’s right?

Sadusky is terrified that he might know the answer to this one and that he’s known it for far longer than he even realized.

“Mr. Gates?”

The formal title catches everyone’s attention. Ben quickly sets his plate down and comes over to a doctor in scrubs, cap tied around his hair.

“Where’s Abigail? How did the tests go?”

“Your wife is fine.” The doctor holds up a hand, grinning.

Riley checks his phone. “It’s only been an hour since she went in.”

Ben goes white. “Were there complications?”

The doctor actually chuckles this time. “Actually, we didn’t even get Dr. Chase out of the ultrasound before she decided to come.”

“Come?” Patrick looks between them all. “As in…?”

The doctor nods, his smile widening. “Mr. Gates, would you like to meet your daughter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all staying well out there! My ff.net inbox is always open if you need to talk. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Riley is comfortable enough to speak, still hushed. “…You know about Layla.”
> 
> Sadusky waits three heartbeats, then nods. “I know about all of it, though I admit the emotional repercussions of what happened after can’t be captured by any Child Services file.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...I definitely thought this was going to be the last chapter. Then my brain went, 'Nope! Here's a whole new section, complete with circuitous feels!' Normally my rule is that I don't let myself post a fic until it's completely finished and edited. But I'm breaking my rule for the first time to stay on schedule. I hope to have the last chapter up early next week.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading! It's been a Time this week and you've all made things so much brighter. <3

One never forgets their first violent crime scene. Whether you’re a rookie or a seasoned agent before you see it, it never goes away. This is a truth as old as law enforcement itself, and it’s taught from day one in the academy, however macho and cool students try to play it.

Sadusky enters the hospital room, a few minutes after the Gates family so that he can call his daughter and granddaughter in London to wish them a merry Christmas, and is immediately transported back to his first homicide scene. The effect is jolting and sudden, and he has no time to prepare for the rush of memories, his veins a reverse colander as they soak in past sensations.

He’d been a rookie agent fresh out of Quantico then, and a man had tried to attack his wife before his three teenage daughters intervened. They shot him by accident with his own gun, in self defence. They’d all been standing there, hushed, staring at the floor in dismayed silence. But without tears.

He’d never forgotten that.

The reason for this sudden memory popping up now, of all times, takes a second to compute.

Baby Gates—and there’s a pun Riley will probably milk for all it’s worth later—is making the rounds, already passing from the grandparents back to Ben. None of them are talking or creating a whole lot of noise, reduced mostly to whispers and delighted little breathy laughs.

They’re hushed.

It is a complete one eighty from that crime scene, of course, everyone smiling, Emily and Ben crying, Riley’s mouth an ‘o’ of awe and curiosity while he stands on tiptoes to peer around Ben’s shoulder, but…the reverent, pluming emotional scent of the room is the same. There’s something hallowed in it, something that creates a pitter-patter in Sadusky’s heart like someone is flipping a coin in there.

Abigail isn’t as tired as he expected, though she reclines back against a mound of pillows in the bed with a proud expression.

“She’s beautiful!” Emily says, not for the first time even since Sadusky opened the door. She squeezes Patrick’s hand on her shoulder. “Healthy and cute as a daffodil!”

Then Riley tilts his head and Sadusky is already smiling at this Hallmark moment he’s about to break.

“She looks like an alien.” Abigail reaches around her IV line to thwack Riley’s arm. He raises his hands in surrender. “What? Tell me she doesn’t at least look like a hairless kitten!”

“All babies look like that,” Abigail argues. “Even mine. It’s the amniotic fluid that built up under their skin, absorbed in the womb. She’ll lose it over the next few days.”

“Oh.” Riley blinks. “I did not know that.”

She really _is_ quite wrinkly, all pink folds and skin recently rubbed dry. She’s already got long, artistic fingers in proportion to her body size, a direct inheritance from both of her parents.

“Peter!” Ben glances up and sees him enter. He’s still faintly bobbing his knees to keep the baby calm. “You want to come meet Eleanor?”

“Eleanor?” Emily gasps. “Is that her name?”

Ben leans back on his heels, beaming. “Eleanor Patricia Gates.”

Patrick’s eyes glisten with a sudden shine and Ben casts him a knowing, slightly teasing look. “Named after Eleanor Roosevelt and the most stubborn, determined man I know.”

Riley’s eyes spark too. “Cool! Ellie Gates.”

There’s a quick ping-pong of non-verbal questions asked when Ben and Abigail look to each other. Abigail subtly nods in answer. It’s clear this nickname had not been their plan but they reach a consensus without a word.

“You got it,” Ben says out loud. “Ellie has a nice ring to it.”

Sadusky hums, amused and warm and fond for them all. “Barely twenty minutes old and already going off book. Sounds like a Gates to me.”

Ben laughs along. “She does things on her own time.”

When Emily reaches her hand over the blanket covered infant, swaddled in white, Ellie grabs her index with tiny fingers. “This little one was just ready to come early as a Christmas gift, that’s all.”

Abigail exhales, rueful. “I just wish she’d given me some warning—one second I was being wheeled out of the exam room and the next she started to breach.”

“Typical,” Riley mutters. “She’s an overachiever just like you guys.”

The eloquent retort on Sadusky’s lips is vaporized by the sight of Benjamin Gates holding out his child. For him, high ranking FBI agent who hunted him multiple times, who tried to imprison him for life, to hold.

Peter’s pulse kicks up. “You’re sure?”

Ben doesn’t even answer, plopping her into his arms. They are practiced arms, already in the correct shape for a newborn baby. Warm, just enough weight to snuggle, Eleanor Gates fits in Sadusky’s arms like she was designed for it. He wonders if this is the first of many times, if he’ll get to hold this tiny being as she grows.

The coin flips again.

His breath does a quick in-out. “Hello, Ellie.”

She isn’t sleepy like his own daughter and granddaughter were when they came into the world. Instead, her forget-me-not blue eyes gaze up at Sadusky with full attention. Studied, inquisitive, and serenely pleased with everything she looks at.

And what do you know—she’s got a full head of curls.

They’re a mixture of Ben’s brown and Abigail’s gold, exquisite ringlets that catch the light in complementing shades. He’s never seen anything like it on a newborn, so much hair in such strange toffee-coloured combinations.

Riley leans closer. His eyes soften. “She really does look like a kitten, a tortie.”

“Ellie the Tortie.” Sadusky grins. “Definitely has a nice ring to it.”

Ben bumps his shoulder with a wry look. “Don’t encourage him. Hey, Riles, you’re the last one. Ready to hold her?”

Riley adjusts his glasses and actually steps back. “Oh, ha, no. That’s okay. Appreciating from a distance and all that.”

“A distance?” Ben demands.

“Aren’t germs bad for a baby? What if I have a cold and I make her sick?”

“You won’t make her sick, Riley.”

Riley’s face turns stony around the edges. “I’m good.”

Abigail snorts. “Wait. Don’t tell me the great Riley Poole has never held a baby.”

“I have _so_ held a baby before.” Riley folds his arms. “I just don’t want to right now.”

Ben plays along, but he looks puzzled. “Not even your own goddaughter?”

Riley hesitates, then reaches over like Emily, close in Peter’s space, to pull back the blanket. It takes Ellie’s eyes a moment to find the source of this new stimulus, undeveloped as they are. It is Riley’s wide, matching blue gaze that catches her attention in the end, how different he probably looks from the rest of them with their aged skin and grey hair. When Ellie sees him, thrilled, she stretches up to touch his finger.

Her mouth opens—and out bursts squeal of pure joy, her first baby giggle.

Everyone laughs in surprise but Riley goes suddenly pale and snaps his finger away. He pushes up his glasses again. “I left a gift for her out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

And he vanishes. Just like that.

Ellie’s lashes flutter, smile fading now that the object of her delight has disappeared. Sadusky rocks her a few times and she yawns. There’s also a fussy twist in her lips, to which Peter hands her back to Abigail.

“I think I’ll step out for some air as well,” he says. Ben’s sharp eyes find him and Sadusky just shakes his head, shocked that he too is learning to speak this silent Gates language.

Peter closes the door behind him for some privacy, but there’s no need.

Riley has holed himself up far down the hall, by the entrance. He’s curled over his knees, sewing leg at a truly epic speed that jitters his right elbow. It must be stiffened to avoid jostling his head, hung low in his hands.

Sadusky pauses, glancing between the hospital room door, its inset window allowing him to watch Abigail kiss Ellie’s forehead, and Riley’s ashen complexion. That crime scene flashes again to mind. All the distressed parties and their awful, sacrosanct hush.

Walking over, he sits down next to Riley. They don’t look at each other. Riley uncoils, head now tipped back against the wall. His leg slackens but doesn’t stop, and he works his jaw one way, then the other.

Some of the hospital staff wear ugly Christmas sweaters or elf ears. Some have festive beads around their neck. One nurse even walks by with an angel halo on her headband. This circus of a day is the last thing Sadusky ever expected when he got invited to dinner—and somehow perfectly on brand for the Gates family. None of them do anything on schedule.

Sadusky holds a big gulp of air, then lets it out very slowly. “When my daughter was born, she almost died.”

Riley’s leg lulls, then starts up again.

“Her heart stopped in the womb,” Peter continues, “and we still, to this day, have no idea why even though she’d been a healthy pregnancy up to the point of delivery. She spent her first twenty four hours of life with round the clock cardiac care until doctors could get it started again at a consistent, normal speed.”

“And now she’s fine?”

Asked through tense lips.

“Yes.” Sadusky nods. “Now Penelope is perfectly healthy. She has a heart murmur but it’s not life threatening and she’s never had problems with it since. The first time I held her…”

Peter takes off his own glasses. Rubs his eyes. Slides them back on. “The first time I was allowed to hold her, she’d lost a lot of weight. She was so small. But do you know the first thing she did when she saw her father?”

The sewing leg halts altogether.

Sadusky answers his unspoken question. “She grinned at me. It was almost a smirk, I swear, and she lit up like we were old friends. Penny still looks at me like that, especially if she’s been away for a while.”

Riley’s eyes remain on the far wall, but he leans to the side a little, rebar tense, and his shoulder touches Peter’s. It is the first time that Riley has ever initiated touch with him, no matter how subtle, and Peter about sees stars. The chill is back, this time lily petal soft.

He shifts to allow Riley more room and therefore more of his weight to tip sideways, trying not to scare off the young man. He’s seen how tactile Riley can be with Ben and knows that while guarded about it, in safe circumstances, it’s his go-to. Like Eleanor, Riley feels warm and clean and weighted against Sadusky’s arm, the kind of pressure that strengthens heartbeats and stirs the silt of humanity inside his sternum.

At last, Riley is comfortable enough to speak, still hushed. “…You know about Layla.”

Sadusky waits three heartbeats, then nods. “I know about all of it, though I admit the emotional repercussions of what happened after can’t be captured by any Child Services file.”

Riley nods too, hanging his head again for a second. “Even Ben doesn’t, so that’s something. I come from a family of four kids, though one was already grown up and moved away by the time I came along, and I was the middle child.”

“That explains so much about you.”

Riley’s smile is broad, full of teeth, containing absolutely no humour whatsoever. His tongue slides along the back of his top teeth. Tendons flare in his jaw.

“Well, you know, then I suddenly became the youngest one day, when I was nine, and that…that’s when it all fell apart, I suppose.”

Sadusky’s heart has started up a heads or tails contest and his hand suddenly burns with the want, the _need_ to comfort Riley somehow. He settles for placing a palm on the top of Riley’s head. The part of a baby’s crown that is soft at birth. Riley’s is covered by that barely tamed mop of hair, also soft, and Sadusky strokes at it.

“Layla died,” he whispers.

“Yup.” Riley’s eyes are resigned. Resigned and chalk full of an old, leathery kind of pain that cracks under the sunshine of other peoples’ happiness. “She died while I was holding her. It was three in the morning and she’d had a fever. We thought it was just a stomach bug but then she stopped…stopped breathing.”

Motionless, Riley doesn’t blink until one very long minute has passed. “My sister only got to live for fifteen months before pneumonia caused her to asphyxiate to death.”

Sadusky’s hand finds his arm this time, just like Ben did to him at the table. “I’m sorry, Riley. You came from a single-mom family.”

“That was fun,” says Riley in a blank tone. “Turns out her raging alcoholism wasn’t considered adequate care for us, though the courts didn’t figure that out until almost a year later. We joked that she traded one bottle for another.”

With a shrug, Riley sniffs. “Took about four years, but eventually we got placed with a nice foster home, though by that time my older sister was seventeen and graduating. Just…Ellie, uh…for a second there I was back in our old room and she wasn’t…she wouldn’t _breathe_.”

Peter swallows, looking straight on at Riley now though the young man won’t reciprocate. He stretches out, spent with the release of tension.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sadusky insists, a tad more firmly than he probably has to.

Surprisingly, Riley is quick to agree. “I know that, I really do. It’s not guilt. Just…memories are hard to run from.”

Sadusky thinks about the crime scene and squeezes his arm. “Amen to that.”

Silence joins their huddle, a third presence stifling them with sorrow. It crowds in on Sadusky’s chest, the flutter of his heart, the falling bomb whistle in Riley’s breathing.

“What if I’m not a good godfather?”

With an expression of disbelief, Sadusky refocuses only to see Riley’s head tilted, so that he can make direct eye contact. Sadusky must be silent for too long, because Riley shakes his head.

“I don’t want to be like my foster homes, Peter.”

“That very concern means you won’t be.”

“What if we’re doomed to repeat the way we’ve been treated?” Riley’s breathing gains speed. “I can’t do that to Ellie. I can’t.”

Peter huffs, the coin in a perpetual spin now. He realizes that Riley has a point, and the protective fire inside his stomach blazes into something so intense that he is left breathless. A brand new thought joins the first, a regret without pinpoint access and absolutely no way to be prevented:

 _I wish I’d been there._ He wishes he could have protected Riley from his now imprisoned foster parents, from his neglectful mother and bad memories. Wishes Ben had gotten to him sooner, while he was still in childhood. Wishes they hadn’t gone their worst moments alone.

He comes back to the present after a moment of emotion-induced arrhythmia. “Even if you’re right—isn’t that a good thing?”

Riley frowns at him. “How? _How_ can any of…” His jaw tightens against a quiver. “I never want Ellie to be treated the way I was.”

Peter fights a quiver as well, his borne from pure rage. He stifles the instinct, instead leaning closer so that Riley’s weight tilts in. “What about Ben? Has he been cruel?”

“What? No!” Riley’s alarm turns to understanding in an instant. “It’s not the same.”

“I think it is,” Sadusky challenges. He taps Riley’s chest. “Just because you weren’t a kid when you met him, doesn’t mean he hasn’t re-written the rules of those bruised places inside you. I get now why you made the security console for Ellie’s room, in that you wanted to keep her safe the way you felt helpless to keep Layla safe.”

The trembling grows too strong to be ignored, much as Riley fights it. His voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe she’s better off without me. Maybe they all are.”

Sadusky stops resisting the urge and wraps an arm around Riley’s shoulders. Riley is stiff at first, startled by the contact, then sags against it. His glasses have fogged from some expertly held back emotion. He takes them off to clean along the hem of his shirt.

Then there is the shuffle of loafers and a high pitched gurgle. Both men turn.

“I don’t think that’s possible. We wouldn’t survive a day, remember?”

Riley straightens, eyes wide, sliding his glasses back on. “Ben…”

It’s just Ben standing there, Ellie now in his arms and freshly fed. He smiles with something so compassionate, tender, that Peter wants to bottle it up forever and splash it all over Riley whenever he talks like this. He’s seen the look before, the day they both sat along the front of Trinity Church and Ben told him the whole story, praising Abigail and Riley with an adoring, fiery eyed look Peter would dwell on for months after it happened.

“You, Riley Poole, are one of the sweetest, impish, and most loving people in my life.” Ben says it like he’s listing the periodic table and Riley would be an idiot to argue. Like it’s as obvious as the sky being blue in the morning. “And this little girl? This tiny alien?”

Riley closes his eyes for a moment, almost, _almost_ smiling and then opens them.

Ben holds his daughter out. “She’s the luckiest kid in the world to have you. You’re going to get into so much trouble together.”

The moment of hesitation and conflict that follows, playing right across Riley’s expression for anyone to read, is a spear lanced straight into Ben and Sadusky. He can sense it in both of them, but Ben sets his face in resolve and doesn’t back down.

“Come on, Riley,” he whispers. “You’re totally our free babysitting service so you’d better get used to it now.”

This coaxes a laugh out of Riley and it’s wet sounding.

“How much did you hear?” he asks.

“Enough. I’ve known about your home life for years, though I never knew why.” Ben’s eyes burn for a moment too, not quite the same brand of fire, and Peter thinks he wouldn’t like to meet Ben in a dark alley where his family is threatened. “And it doesn’t make me trust you with my baby any less.”

Riley puts the back of his sleeved hand to his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Riles.” Ben crouches down so he’s right in front of Riley and this puts Ellie at arm height. “There’s nobody better.”

Bright eyed and trying to wrestle it away, Riley reaches out one arm first. His right. “I haven’t even _held_ a baby since Layla.”

Ben doesn’t bat an eye. “The perfect opportunity, then.”

The trembling fingers of Riley’s right hand touch her first, just a quick brush along her shoulder. Then he snatches it back. Still gazing steadily at Riley, Ben doesn’t so much as flinch, still holding her out.

Ellie is dozing, her belly full, but at the return of Riley’s tentative touch, her eyes wink open. It’s clear she’s already claimed him, barely an hour old and falling for the man. Riley’s left hand takes a lot longer to join this crystalline, shivering moment. It’s unsteady again, and the fingers curl into rigor mortise shapes before he lets them unfurl like a blossom to cradle this brand new life. Riley knows what to do too, evidenced by the automatic way he adjusts his left hand so it’s cupping Ellie’s head.

Though none of them got to watch Ellie enter the world, Sadusky can’t help feeling like he’s witnessing another birth, this one of Riley. Ready to trust them with the truth and tentatively ready to break the cycle of hurt from his own upbringing.

Riley stares down at her and the abrupt heat of pride inside Peter amazes him, that this young man refuses to be hard or callous just because people have done the same to him. It’s a different kind of weight—Peter and Ben know they can’t drop him, can’t fail for a second. 

Ben gradually pulls his own hands away but Riley doesn’t notice. He’s thoroughly snared, enraptured, by his new niece.

Ellie giggles again and Riley’s whole body twitches. Then he tests her weight with a tiny bounce. “Hey, you ugly little troll doll. What’s up?”

Ben rolls his eyes.

Ellie burbles a baby coo, her eyes tracking the glint of Riley’s glasses. “You’ve got Ben’s weird ears. That’s awesome.”

The statement is childish and innocent, and it seems to wind Ben in equal measure with Sadusky. They trade another glance, Ben’s teary because they are on Riley now. Riley makes a silly face just to see what Ellie will do, and she laughs again.

“Thanks, Ben.” Riley finally meets his eyes, letting one of those tears fall. “For everything.”

Sadusky will probably never know the depths of what is encapsulated by _everything_ , all the years of faith in each other built up through adversity and gunpowder, but he has a pretty good idea. Especially with the way they’re looking at each other, heavier than a lodestone and full of love.

Before Riley can finish talking, Ben is on his feet, his elbow curled gently around Riley’s neck. It’s an exhibition of how much Riley trusts Ben that he allows this type of embrace at all, letting himself be pulled closer. Ben leans down and plants a light kiss on his friend's hair. This must not be a common occurrence—stunned, Riley looks up at him with a slack jaw.

“Merry Christmas, Riley.”

“…Merry Christmas, Ben.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is then that he notices what he should have from the beginning—his eyes land on the scanner over Ellie’s crib. Completely dark.
> 
> “I turned it off.” Riley answers the unspoken question, and Sadusky’s accompanying look of disbelief, with a smile. It’s a longed for sight and it supercharges Sadusky, every last joint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole ending section, tying up some loose emotional plot threads, basically wrote itself. It wasn't in my notes at all but then—as usual—I woke up in the wee hours of the morning with my brain going, 'psssttt...wanna add in this totally random extra chapter?'
> 
> Here is the result!

The next time Sadusky finds himself approaching the Gates house, a little over a week after Eleanor’s unexpected entrance into the world, he is relieved to hear nothing but laughter. The loud, obnoxious kind that only comes from the later stages of a giggle fit and what sounds to be an over the top argument about bread making, interjected with barks of laughter and the mouth-full objections of Patrick.

Sadusky stops for a moment, just like he did last time, now wearing a tiny, loose smile that brightens the corners of his mouth. Each breath is train steam in the crisp January air and he’s thankful for his old, crushed wool Baskerville cap. He savours the sound of this family’s mirth, carefree and without fear, the way a blue jay is chattering on the eave high above him, the joy of two wrapped packages tucked under his arm.

This time, his knocking garners an instant response, no doorbell ringing required. Footsteps pound closer and there’s a chorus of surprised exclamations.

It’s Ben who swings it open, and his whole face widens in comic levels of shock when he sees who is standing on the doorstep.

Sadusky holds out the presents, rosy cheeked with glee at being able to catch the normally quick witted man off guard. “I heard there was a gift exchange this weekend. Happy new year!”

Ben’s mouth works. “You…how…”

“Riley texted me about this little shindig a few days ago.” Sadusky squints, his smile faltering, and tries to get a read on the cluster of faces now congregating behind Ben, sans Riley himself. “Am I late?”

“ _Late_?” Ben pants out. “Are you kidding?”

And Ben tugs him into his arms, right then and there. It’s a strange feeling, his first ever, real Ben Gates hug. He’s not a back slapper like Patrick but his grip is strong and tight and he, like Abigail, has no use for polite embraces. Over the man’s shoulder, Peter watches Emily start to sniffle, eyes swimming.

When Ben steps back, he’s a tad flushed himself.

“Uh…” Peter looks between them. “Did I miss something? Is everyone okay?”

Abigail rescues him from the moment, as usual. She walks in from the living room to pat Sadusky’s arm, looking tired but more relaxed than he’s ever seen her. “Peter—this is the first time you’ve ever come to our house without being explicitly invited. You just…showed up, because you wanted to. We’re proud.”

 _Oh._ Sadusky wonders at this fact, at the dawning realization that he never checked or asked permission first. _You’re getting too attached, Peter. It’s going to cost you—or worse yet,_ them— _one day._

But Emily takes his hand, squeezing it like an excited schoolgirl, and Peter’s whole body melts into the arms they’ve all snaked around his back without him noticing. It’s selfish, but even with the knowledge that Riley’s mention of this wasn’t technically an invitation, Peter can’t bring himself to pull away and leave.

“There’s plenty of food left so help yourself.” Abigail sweeps him around the mismatched Christmas tree and into an armchair. She stuffs her hands in her pockets with a sly look at Patrick. “Though apparently my brown bread making skills aren’t quite up to snuff.”

“I never said that!” Patrick restarts his protests. “I was simply pointing out the differences between UK and German bread making techniques.”

“Mhmm.” Abigail winks at him, then hands a penguin shaped mug of hot cocoa to Peter. He sets his gifts under the tree. “I hear you like chocolate milk in yours?”

It’s a question, with the way she’s holding out a small carton. Sadusky smiles and takes it, so bowled over by their kindness that he almost has to look away. “Guilty as charged.”

“We keep some on hand at all times,” says Ben, “thanks to Riley.”

Peter takes a sip of the frothy chocolate and glances around. “Where is Riley?”

Abigail and Ben trade a quick look. They’re visibly exhausted, sporting the under eye bags chic to most first time parents, but they haven’t lost their spark or ability to read each other’s minds with a single gaze.

“Checking on Ellie’s nap,” Ben explains after a beat.

Sadusky catches the careful tone in an instant. “Is this a regular practice?”

Before Ben can answer, there’s a distant wail from down the hall. A demonstration of that perfect, presentient ability of babies the world over to time their needs down to the second. Convenience be damned.

They wait it out for a minute, but the sound only mushroom clouds into a crying fit.

“Riley.” Abigail darts over to place a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “He’ll need—”

“I’ll go.” Sadusky stands, setting his hot chocolate down next to a game of _Thirteen Dead End Drive_ on the coffee table. After how hospitable they’re all being, it’s the least he can do.

“Thank you.” And Ben looks it, his face twisted with concern. “He won’t pick her up unless someone else is in the room.”

Filing that interesting and worrisome piece of information into an overstuffed cabinet at the back of his mind, Sadusky hustles down the hall faster than he did the last time he was here. Despite this, once his feet go from hardwood to carpet, he stops. It’s a habit based on experience, that rushing in never does any good, short of spooking whoever needs him in that moment. If he’s honest, he needs that second to process the bizarre sight—

Riley is leaning over Ellie’s crib, his own expression contorted in mounting distress, but his hands firmly at his sides. They’ve long since curled into fists. He won’t even _touch_ her, and something about the whole portrait is out of focus, wrong, like a developing photograph ruined by the light.

He speaks in a hushed, placating tone to Ellie, wriggling around in her crib, his voice edged with puddles of anxiety. Her arms flail in Riley’s direction. Sadusky is baffled that he doesn’t just reach in and pick her up, which surely would end this. Shifting on his feet, the hallway floorboards creak.

Riley’s head whips up and he spots Sadusky, nearly crying with relief. Then he gingerly slides his hands over the railing to scoop Ellie out.

 _Finally_.

“Hey, Sadusky,” he spares a moment to greet over the racket, as if there’s nothing unusual about refusing to pick up a baby without supervision.

“Hello, Riley.” Peter waits for the little chin flick of permission and enters the room. Riley bounces the infant while she rests against his good shoulder. “Is she hungry? I can let Abigail know.”

“Nah.” Riley goes for nonchalant, but his words are shaky. “This isn’t a hungry cry. She just had a bad dream or was lonely.”

“Lonely, huh?”

Right as this leaves Sadusky’s mouth, patronizing and skeptical, he’s proven wrong. Sure enough, Ellie’s minikin fists bunch up in Riley’s oversized MIT sweater—the exact remedy to stop her crying in a flash. Her eyes are mostly closed, meaning it’s her button nose that tells her who this is, buried against Riley’s neck.

For a few minutes, there is only Riley dipping his knees and Sadusky by the door so Riley feels safe enough to keep doing it. Ellie hums her feelings on the matter but is soon lulled back into dream land, whatever that must look like for someone who’s only had nine days breathing life on earth.

Something about this situation’s sudden decrescendo sucks the wind straight out of Riley’s sails. The quiet rushes back in and he lowers himself—also a shaky execution—into the rocking chair. He looks more fatigued than Ben.

“How are you doing with all this?” Sadusky asks softly. He leans his side against the changing table, the best angle for him to study Riley’s face. “Must feel strange to have a baby in the house again.”

“So far, Ellie has eighteen different cries or vocalizations,” says Riley, like that’s an acceptable answer to the question. It’s a factual statement, no emotion whatsoever except perhaps a hint of personal pride. “And I can tell them all apart.”

“That’s…” Sadusky hesitates, a rare occurrence in his world. “Great. Some parents can barely manage it.”

Riley is modest enough that he doesn’t nod along but he eyes Sadusky with something appreciative.

“Does the sound of her crying bother you?”

Riley shrugs. “Crying babies bother everyone. And I don’t mind helping out with her.”

A presentient instinct of Sadusky’s own keeps his lips closed, though he has a lot he’d like to say, mostly on the subject of therapy and traumatic memories and how history won’t repeat itself, how all of those things tie together in a messy little bow. But something stops him.

It is then that he notices what he should have from the beginning—his eyes land on the scanner over Ellie’s crib. Completely dark.

“I turned it off.” Riley answers the unspoken question, and Sadusky’s accompanying look of disbelief, with a smile. It’s a longed for sight and it supercharges Sadusky, every last joint.

“What prompted you?”

Riley shifts Ellie down so she’s on her back in his arms. “Ben and I had a talk about this kid, about…other stuff. As long as we’re present, in the house, I’m not going to worry about her security. Once Ellie is old enough for a babysitter and we leave her for a few hours, _then_ I’ll turn it on.”

Peter looks at the device, no lights blinking, to this young man who grew up far too fast and remained an innocent all in one.

He has the sudden vision of a cream pie, one piece stolen out of it but the whipped cream smoothed so it looks whole to the outside observer. Quaint and quantifiable to anyone who didn’t scrape back the layers to see the hole underneath. How long would Riley have gone, aching inside, until he broke? How long before Ben took that clumsy knife of his unflagging hope and honour, digging down deep until he found the missing piece—and filled it? Sadusky is thankful that he’ll never have to find out.

Just like they have filled his own heart, the chasm left by the loss of Katherine.

That messy bow takes shape in Sadusky’s mind. He watches Riley peck Ellie’s forehead and understands. “This scanner…it was never about an intruder, was it?”

Riley starts to rock, more for his own benefit than Ellie’s. He doesn’t look Sadusky in the eye, but he shakes his head in confirmation.

“Not just that, anyway.”

Peter burns again, with the need to be a lock combination of safety for them all. He _is_ the first line of defense for them, this gaggle of misfits and academics, and somehow Riley has come to believe in that enough to place his trust in them. Peter leans just a little bit more on the change table, dizzy when he puts it all together. “This is about her not having a fever spike like Layla did: the biometric scanner is for _her_.”

Riley glances up at Sadusky from under his lashes. “Took Ben all of three days to figure that one out.”

Peter can no longer deny the verdant, tender place in his heart with these peoples’ names on it. An oasis that they have both given him and that he protects _for_ them.

“I’ll be right back. I have a special gift for you.”

Riley half rises from his seat in alarm. He holds out Ellie. “Do you want to take her with you? Should I…?”

“No, Riley.” Sadusky clasps his knee. “I trust you with her. You should too, alright?”

Riley doesn’t verbally agree, though he does ease back down. Nervous, he keeps looking from the doorway to sleeping Ellie. When his eyes flit back to her, Peter sneakily takes his leave.

To no one’s surprise, least of all Sadusky’s, Ben is hovering out in the hallway. Just far enough that Riley won’t hear or see him, close enough to eavesdrop. He’s not _quite_ wringing his hands like a nosy spinster but it’s a near thing.

Peter ribs him fondly. “He’s okay, Ben.”

Ben is almost skittish with excitement, somehow managing to match Peter’s low murmur. “Is he holding her?”

“All by himself.”

Ben stares at Sadusky with awe, like he just handed him the cure for cancer free of charge. “I haven’t been able to get him to do that yet and we’ve tried everything. Thank you, Peter!”

So saying, he immediately hugs Peter again for good measure, a hastier and lighter one this time around. When they part, Sadusky looks down to see the gift he brought for Riley in Ben’s other hand. Something in his spirit shivers, the pieces of an optical illusion aligned perfectly to create a bigger picture.

“Thank the bullet proof glass.”

Ben looks away from the nursery door to him, brow furrowed. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

Sadusky shakes himself. “Sorry, it’s just…that moment was the first time I started rooting for you, when I saw the document casing full of bullet holes. You left it in the elevator.”

Ben’s confusion lasts a beat longer and then he flushes again. “Not my finest moment. The whole thing was supposed to go smoothly, you know.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” says Sadusky, drop dead serious. A cold sweat breaks out along his hairline. “If you hadn’t gotten caught on tape, with the credit card, you’d all probably be dead by now.”

The thought petrifies Sadusky more than he expects. He has a violent, unwelcome image of Ben on the floor of that elevator in a body bag, or worse yet he and Riley crashing in the van. A crumpled piece of wreckage on the side of the road.

Ben misses this moment of inner turmoil. “How do you figure that? If we’d left earlier, as planned, we’d have gotten away smoothly and back to my apartment in time. Much easier than you being involved.”

A quick shadow passes over the man’s face at this last bit and Peter’s stomach winches. “Oh no, Ben. I would have gotten involved either way. And imagine if we hadn’t discovered you were responsible for the theft. We would have had no reason to track you specifically.”

The words are a fresh breeze to Sadusky’s spirit, a conversation that has hounded at his steps, one he’s put off for years. Ben’s face ripples as he thinks this over.

“I never told you this.” Peter breathes in through his nose to keep his heart rate down. “But we found out that some of Ian’s people had hunted down where you were living and waited in ambush for you. When we showed up at your apartment, they promptly high tailed it. Though we may never know for sure—I suspect our involvement, so soon, is what kept them from shooting you and Riley that night.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Ben counters, bitterly.

“No,” says Sadusky. “They certainly didn’t make it easy for any of us.”

Ben loses his colouring once it sinks in, that being caught on camera saved his life. Kept them from going back to the apartment where they would’ve been executed in cold blood. Caused him to meet Sadusky. Kept them all alive because Abigail was forced to make a deal with Ian and therefore gave them value until the end.

“I was a different person then,” is all Ben says. He turns the present around in his hands.

“Yes, you were. You care more now about them in ways I’m just starting to scratch the surface of.”

“It’s like when we first met, I didn’t _see_ him, you know?” Ben’s awe turns into something sacred, husky sounding. “Now he…he’s…I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love a person.”

Peter accepts the gift, seeing the peeled strips of tape where he did a less than stellar job of wrapping it.

“And that,” he says, “is _why_ Riley is okay. Just don’t stop telling him or you’ll be getting stern phone calls from me.”

Ben laughs, remembering at the last moment to keep quiet. “Deal.”

When Sadusky returns, Riley is exactly where he left him, though his eyelids are heavy. He’s in danger of following Eleanor’s trek into sleep, the fingers of his left hand as dexterous in caressing her hair as they are with a keyboard. Peter drags over a toddler sized stool, intended for when Ellie gets older, and sits so he’s a little below Riley’s eye level.

Riley sees what’s in his hand at once, naturally. “Is this present for me?”

“Of course.” Peter smiles. “Just don’t tell the others that you got a personal one.”

“What else did you bring?” Riley starts the usual ritual of surgically peeling off the wrapping, using only his left since Ellie fits perfectly in the cradle of his right elbow. “Don’t tell me it’s more sweaters.”

Sadusky shakes his head. “I gave them our old copy of _Risk_. Emily told me about how much you all love board games.”

Riley’s eyes dance with memory. “Did I ever tell you about the time me, Abigail, and Ben played an eight hour game of _Monopoly_ in one sitting that ended in a hallway barricade and a handful of popcorn down Ben’s shirt?”

Sadusky’s mind blanks at the sheer chaos of that mental scene. Riley sees his expression and laughs.

“I want to say I’m surprised but…”

“But it’s us,” Riley finishes.

He lifts away the last chunk of polar bear wrapping paper to reveal a little booklet, with clear sleeves instead of pages. There’s a simple tulip embossed on the leather cover, its leaves curling around the spine. It’s not very thick, small enough to fit in a back pocket or that messenger bag Riley totes everywhere.

“Not very original,” Peter offers, when Riley goes terribly quiet and won’t look up. “And I know you keep albums on your phone nowadays, but I thought maybe this could be a way to take Eleanor with you, even when you’re apart. There’s lots of room for you to add new memories. A reminder that not every new life ends badly, that she’s not going anywhere.”

Riley flips open to the first page, where Sadusky has already inserted two photos back to back—one that Ben helped him track down amid Riley’s meager possessions, a dog eared Polaroid of Layla taking her first steps. There’s a blob of yellow in the top left corner, a finger, meaning Riley probably took it himself. The other depicts Riley sandwiched in between Ben and Abigail, worn and dirty outside Trinity Church right after they found the Templar treasure, but mid-laugh at something Ben said.

Riley swallows, louder even than Ellie’s snuffled breathing. He’s long since stopped rocking.

“Riley?” Peter fears suddenly that he overstepped. “If you don’t like it or this is too painful, I apologize. Ben and I shouldn’t have gone through your things. I can take it back—”

“That’s what Ben said.”

Sadusky halts his backpedaling. “I’m sorry?”

“Ben, he uh…” Riley touches Layla’s face with his fingertips. “He told me that he’s not going anywhere. Like it was a solemn oath or something, the white knight in department store jeans.”

His snark lacks heat, all weak-kneed gratitude, a perfect echo of Peter’s when he first arrived. He relates to the sentiment. 

“I’ve never had anyone keep that promise, before Ben.” At last, Riley looks at Sadusky, really _looks_ at him, and just like that Sadusky can breathe properly again.

Forget attached. He knows in this moment, with such clarity it’s like pure oxygen pumped straight into his bloodstream, that he would die for them. At the drop of a hat. No questions asked. It is a terrifying feeling but still Peter can’t help but smile. These insane, soft people, with their bleeding hearts and lightning fast banter, have twined themselves around the fleshy parapets of his heart like the tulip leaves.

“It’s amazing, Peter. Thank you.”

Riley doesn’t ask for a hug, not like Ben, but his left arm shifts forward, an opportunity for Peter to refuse it if he wants. An awful, familiar readiness to be rejected that Sadusky dispels at once, as soon as he gets his breath back from being sucker punched by this display of trust and initiative.

Sadusky shifts forward to gather Riley’s bony torso to his chest. He cups the precious, tousled head just like Riley is cupping Ellie’s. A timid hand buries itself in the back of his pullover. Riley carries the unique, second hand scent of baby and cinnamon rolls, probably from the ones he baked earlier.

“For you?” Peter whispers, releasing him shortly thereafter, knowing that this is a test and he can’t hang on long. “Anything.”

And he means it. He is cowed down to his marrow by how strongly he means it.

Ben ‘conveniently’ enters a few minutes later. They migrate to the living room, for the magi-like procession of gifts being passed around. Riley doesn’t seem ready to let go of Ellie yet and they don’t push it.

Peter is astonished that there are gifts for him too—the promised bundt cake mold (in the shape of a hand bell), a pair of slippers (Emily), a loaf of bannock bread (Patrick), and a free day pass to the Smithsonian archives for he and his granddaughter. Sadusky isn’t sure how Ben and Abigail swung this last one, with all the red tape surrounding certain sensitive materials, but he’s learned better by now and just accepts it.

As predicted, they all end up seated on the floor around the coffee table, arguing over the _Risk_ board barely an hour in. Ben accuses Abigail of cheating and Emily throws her soldiers at Patrick after she catches him stealing game pieces.

Sadusky can’t wait for his girls to meet them in person, to share this new world that has filled the void of his empty life.

And if Riley holds the baby for so long that they both doze off, Ellie on his chest, right there in the living room, and if Sadusky snaps a quick photo of it for the album when they’re not looking, well.

Nobody has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two fun facts: the hand bell bundt cake mold is a nod to the fact that I used to play hand bells, competitively. Our bell choir won most years, I'm proud to say. 
> 
> Secondly, the _Monopoly_ thing is actually based on a true story of a friend and I in fourth grade. We had an eight hour game that turned into a free-for-all when I stuffed some popcorn down his shirt and he barricaded me in the dining room. Good times...though I still have no idea who won!
> 
> Thanks for reading along. :)


End file.
